


Season to Taste

by manic_intent



Series: Compliments to the Chef [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chef AU, M/M, That Chef AU where Thorin is now an investor in Bilbo's new restaurant, about their relationship that goes viral, and accidentally makes an off the cuff comment in an unrelated interview, more silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin jammed his phone back into his coat with a touch more force than was really necessary as he let himself into his penthouse apartment at the top of Erebor Tower. A disastrous day reassuring shareholders over the ramifications of the Keystone executive decision - which in Thorin’s opinion had no real fucking bearing on Erebor Inc at all, so fucking <i>what</i> if the Obama administration was pushing a climate change agenda - had culminated in that ridiculous Independent tweet fiasco. </p><p>Which had naturally, given the nature of the internet, promptly gone viral. Thorin was going to <i>murder</i> the editor at the Independent. Slowly. Contemplating the intricacies of hiring professional hitmen, Thorin shouldered off his suit jacket, stalking over to his bedroom to hang it on the rack, and stopped dead on his way through the living room when he saw Bilbo in the kitchen, produce arranged in neat piles on the benchtop, arms dusty with flour to the elbows, shirt sleeves rolled high.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Season to Taste

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a oneshot. However, I forgot to write in the dessert I had this year in Saint Crispin Melbourne, which was incredible. I’m a dessert person: when I read a menu I look first at the dessert page - when I choose restaurants I look first at what dessert they have to offer. :D So… enjoy! Another silly instalment.

**The Independent** @Independent 2h  
Love at first bite: we talk with Thorin Durin @oakenshield about his allspice romance with @chefbilbo of @tea_at_four ind.pn/1234ABC

—

 **Bilbo Baggins** @chefbilbo 1h  
@Independent @oakenshield WHAT. 

— 

**Bilbo Baggins** @chefbilbo 1h  
@Independent @oakenshield What romance? 

— 

**Thorin Durin** @oakenshield 20m  
@chefbilbo @Independent … Wait. Isn’t this just the clean energy interview? Fucking clickbaiters. 

— 

**Bilbo Baggins** @chefbilbo 10m  
@Independent @oakenshield I’ll have you know, we’re just friends with benefits.

— 

**Kíli Durin** @kilidurin 5m  
@chefbilbo @oakenshield wow

— 

**Kíli Durin** @kilidurin 5m  
@chefbilbo @oakenshield oh my god hahahaha I don’t even @disdurin @filidurin 

— 

**Fíli Durin** @filidurin 3m  
@chefbilbo @oakenshield @disdurin @kilidurin Uncle really

— 

**Dís Durin** @disdurin 3m  
@oakenshield @kilidurin @filidurin Can’t say I’m surprised. @chefbilbo dear when are you coming over for tea?

— 

**Thorin Durin** @oakenshield 1m  
@disdurin @filidurin @kilidurin fuck off

—

Thorin jammed his phone back into his coat with a touch more force than was really necessary as he let himself into his penthouse apartment at the top of Erebor Tower. A disastrous day reassuring shareholders over the ramifications of the Keystone executive decision - which in Thorin’s opinion had no real fucking bearing on Erebor Inc at all, so fucking _what_ if the Obama administration was pushing a climate change agenda - had culminated in that ridiculous Independent tweet fiasco. 

Which had naturally, given the nature of the internet, promptly gone viral. Thorin was going to _murder_ the editor at the Independent. Slowly. Contemplating the intricacies of hiring professional hitmen, Thorin shouldered off his suit jacket, stalking over to his bedroom to hang it on the rack, and stopped dead on his way through the living room when he saw Bilbo in the kitchen, produce arranged in neat piles on the benchtop, arms dusty with flour to the elbows, shirt sleeves rolled high. 

“Ah,” Bilbo blinked, with deer-in-the-headlights surprise, as though Thorin had snuck into Bag End Place rather than into his own damned apartment, what the hell. “Didn’t think that you were coming back early.” 

Thorin checked his watch. The sidereal time on the Sky Moon Tourbillon indicated that it was about twelve past ten, which was about normal for Thorin’s usual work day, but not normal for Bilbo. “Early service?” 

“It’s Monday, the restaurant’s closed,” Bilbo reminded him distractedly, fixing something petite in a bowl, then as an afterthought, added, “Let myself in. Hope you don’t mind. The kitchen at Bag End isn’t this well-equipped, and Bofur always feels obliged to come in if I come by Tea at Four on Mondays.” 

“Not at all,” Thorin breathed, because despite his wealth he was no stranger to avarice, and Bilbo, cute-as-a-button Bilbo, was one of the most talented chefs Thorin had ever met, particularly now that he wasn’t being held back by unreasonable restaurant owners. 

Bilbo flashed him a faint smirk as Thorin strode over for a closer look. Neat bowls of various cheeses, some grated, some diced, sat in a row beside a box of fresh vegetables, herbs and berries: raspberries, blueberries and blackberries in particular, plump and bright. There was a fillet of some sort of fish on a plate, as well as a cut of some dark red meat, and a sirloin cut of beef.

“You’re making that sound again,” Bilbo drawled, as Thorin belatedly pressed a kiss to the back of Bilbo’s neck. “Hungry?”

“For you? Alw-“

“Try these,” Bilbo nudged over a small bowl of small golden spheres of choux pastry. “Still hot. Lucky you came by when you did. It’s not quite right yet,” he added, as Thorin picked up one of the warm spheres and popped it into his mouth. _God_. Light and almost insubstantial, with a touch of nutmeg and the sweet tartness of not-quite-ripe fresh tomato and velvety Gruyère cheese: Thorin couldn’t help a groan, and Bilbo laughed, the minx. “I’m thinking, more cheese, maybe a little lime. Like so. Better?”

“Marry me,” Thorin said, a little indistinctly, but Bilbo was already waving him off, checking on something that smelled divine bubbling gently on the stovetop.

“I’m just working on a few amuse-bouche ideas and dessert,” Bilbo said distractedly, “But I can probably whip up dinner for you if you’re _actually_ hungry.” 

“I’ll eat whatever you’re making,” Thorin made the executive decision to drape his jacket on the back of the butter-soft leather bar stool up against the kitchen countertop, and wolfed down the rest of the spheres, watching possessively as Bilbo spun about the expansive kitchen, tasting, seasoning, sometimes twitching his nose, the way he did when he was thinking - adorable - or pulling a face, or tilting his head thoughtfully. Thorin could watch Bilbo work like this forever if he could. 

God. He had it _so_ bad it was embarrassing. 

“Jerusalem artichoke scallop,” Bilbo pushed over a small plate: black slate, the scallop in small battered puffs, dusted with a pale nest of cheese. “Thinking between this and the gougères for amuse-bouche for Tea at Four’s winter menu.” 

Thorin purred out aloud at the first mouthful of scallop: as everything, perfectly cooked. “Serve both.” 

“That’s boring. Visually, they’re too similar.” Bilbo tasted the soup again, wrinkled his nose, and added a pinch of salt. “So. The Independent, eh?”

“Did you even read the interview?” Thorin asked accusingly. “It was an off-the-cuff comment! At the _end_. Fucking _journalists_.”

“The country’s most ‘notorious’ bachelor, hm?” 

“Oh my _God_.” 

“I didn’t know that you used to go out with Scarlett Johansson.” 

Thorin exhaled loudly. Here it came. “Bilbo, Scarlett and I are only friends, and I… you’re still such an arsehole,” he added incredulously, when Bilbo startled to chuckle, the evil little thing. “I can’t believe that you told a _newspaper_ that we were just ‘friends with benefits’!” 

“Hm well,” Bilbo swept away the plates and pushed over a small glass bowl of roast baby potatoes in a nest of spinach. “Potatoes, roasted in fresh mustard with lemon thyme.”

“You can’t distract me with food,” Thorin told him severely, though he did tug the bowl closer. 

“Says who? And d’you want the blue eye, or the sirloin?” 

“Whatever you’ll like to cook. Bilbo, you have the keys to my _apartment_. We’ve been… seeing each other for two months now and I rather thought-“ 

“You’re also technically my boss.” Bilbo arched his eyebrows.

“An _investor_ ,” Thorin corrected.

“Same thing.”

“I beg to differ.” 

“I have to admit, you’re pretty _good_ at begging,” Bilbo drawled, with another smirk, the bloody tease, and although Thorin glowered at Bilbo’s back, Bilbo _did_ have Thorin bang to rights: when the steamed blue eye was served, Bilbo laughed as Thorin let out a satisfied sigh when the fish flaked easily under his fork. 

“If only all my other patrons were this easy to please.” Bilbo rested his elbows on the counter top to watch Thorin eat.

Thorin frowned at him. “Someone complained? Who was it?”

“You can’t please everyone,” Bilbo said vaguely, then shook his head when Thorin’s frown deepened. “I’m not going to tell you, in case you do something completely over the top like stalk him or put out a hit on him or whatever it is you do to people you don’t like.”

“Sometimes I criticise them on twitter and then get invited over for dinner,” Thorin pointed out, with a quick smile, scooping up a forkful of fish and a disc of toasted rye, the fish buttery and delicate.

“My sous chef talked me out of poisoning your food that night,” Bilbo conceded. “Though he thought that I was going to stab you with my chef knife.” 

“I could tell that you were tempted.” 

“You were an arse. Still are,” Bilbo retorted tartly. “You’re lucky that you have such a pretty face. _You_ could have just brushed off the Independent’s question,” he added.

“It took me by surprise.” Thorin admitted sourly. “They asked me about our exchange over twitter, I said it was resolved, they asked about my investment in Tea at Four, and then…” Thorin waved helplessly. “ _You_ said that we were just ‘friends with benefits’.”

“Yes, I know. And I’m fairly sure that you’ve already said that to me.” 

“I was hoping-“ Thorin began gruffly, then he hesitated as Bilbo cleared the plate and set a bowl of consommé before him, with a swirl of plump noodles studded with mussels.

“Handmade noodles, of course,” Bilbo said, even as he deftly rolled a sliver of meat on a slab of something weirdly pink. “Eat this first. Salt-cured kangaroo, then the kangaroo consommé with the noodles.”

It wasn’t anywhere as gamey as Thorin had expected, and the noodles were delicate and silky: technique and grace and flair all at once. Thorin had worked his way blissfully to the last spoonful of soup before he remembered himself and growled, “Are you avoiding the question?”

“What question?” Bilbo asked innocently, arranging pale green jelly cubes onto a tiny quenelle of ice cream and little yellow puffs.

“Jesus, you _are_ trying to distract me with food. _And_ it’s working.” Fuck his self-control. Thorin was pathetic in the face of his vices.

“Lime jelly, mascarpone ice cream, popcorn,” Bilbo traced the pad of his thumb teasingly over the edge of the bowl. “Unless you’d rather talk, of course.”

“Oh, give it here,” Thorin said grumpily, and swiped the bowl over. 

“Well, like I _have_ said, you _are_ technically my boss,” Bilbo said idly. “So-“

“I think it’s closer to being a _business partner_.”

“-being a _notorious bachelor_ and all, now that your weakness is known to the world,” Bilbo continued, “There are a hell of a lot of talented chefs out there who are also handsome chaps.” 

Thorin groaned. “I didn’t sleep with you just because you could cook!” 

“Oh really?”

“… fine, it helped,” Thorin conceded irritably, “But I don’t make it a habit to go about sleeping with chefs, or whatever you think. You’re _gorgeous_ and-“

“I could probably introduce you to Nigella Lawson,” Bilbo said idly, and smirked when Thorin choked on his ice cream and started coughing. “Or Curtis Stone.” 

An awkward thought dawned. “Bilbo. Are you… angry that I… over what I said to the Independent?”

“Well, not particularly.”

“Not _particularly_? Meaning ‘yes’?” 

“Meaning I was perhaps a trifle annoyed, yes, that you went _public_ without having first talked to me,” Bilbo said dryly, “But I think I’m over it. It’s good that we had this talk.” 

Bilbo-being-reasonable was usually a trap: so Thorin had learned over the surprisingly… explosive two months of semi-maybe-courtship that had already started to add to his waist line. He eyed Bilbo suspiciously all through the palate cleanser, and was still silent when Bilbo brought a little jar out of the refrigerator, setting it in front of Thorin.

“It’s a brillat-savarin triple cream brie cheesecake, mandarin meringue, orange nuggets,” Bilbo said, and grinned as he tapped the spoon lightly over Thorin’s knuckles. “I know deconstruction’s a little _done_ right now, but it was just an idea I had this afternoon. I’m not too sure if it works, or if it’s just my natural bias towards brillat-savarin.”

Thorin had to breathe slowly through his nose at the first spoonful, and at his indistinct, dazed, “Oh _fuck_ ,” Bilbo started to smirk again. 

“All right, it works.” 

Thorin solemnly reached over the countertop to press a palm over Bilbo’s folded hands. “Seriously. Marry me.”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” Bilbo said, reasonable all over again, “That I really shouldn’t be mixing business with pleasure, so, while I’m still running Tea at Four, maybe we should just be friends.” 

Thorin choked on his next spoonful, started coughing, and had to have a glass of water, wheezing; he frowned at Bilbo’s all-too-serious face when he had his breathing back under control, and his heart started to drop. “I didn’t think that it would be a problem.”

“Really?”

“If the restaurant is a problem,” Thorin said carefully, “We could step away from it or…” A more uncomfortable struck and held fast. “Would you rather operate it than… be with me?” 

Bilbo stared deeply into his eyes… for only a few heartbeats, then his gaze started to crinkle up with amusement. Oh, the little _bastard_. Thorin lowered his head with a deep, irritable exhalation. “My God. You’re such a fucking troll. I don’t believe it.” 

“I can’t help it. _You_ looked like you were going to have a crisis over a deconstructed cheesecake.” 

“Bilbo,” Thorin growled, “I was _serious_ about everything I said in that interview.” 

“And _I_ think it would have been _nice_ to be consulted _beforehand_ about something like that,” Bilbo retorted. “D’you know what happened today? I’ve been _inundated_ with calls from _everyone_ asking for a comment on _your_ bloody interview! Even _Vanity Fair_ gave me a call! How the fuck did they get my number anyway?”

Thorin grimaced. He should have known. “Ah. I’m sorry about that.” 

“Good!” 

“And let me make it up to you.”

Bilbo studied him for a moment longer, then he sighed. “That’s quite all right. I’m not mad anymore, as much as it might have done you some good to suffer a little more. And like I said, you’re lucky that you’re hot.” 

“Bilbo,” Thorin reluctantly set his spoon down. “About all this. I want to be more than just ‘friends with benefits’-“

“That was fairly obvious around the point where you asked me to marry you,” Bilbo said dryly. “Who the hell proposes to someone after only two months of not-quite-dating? Without even going the whole nine yards of flashy roses and shiny rings?”

Thorin grit his teeth. Sometimes, Bilbo could be extremely trying on his patience. “Then what do you want from me?”

“No more random exposés, for a start. And for the rest of it,” Bilbo reached over to rub the flat of his palm gently over the swell of Thorin’s cheek, “Calm down, Thorin. We can keep working it out.” 

“That’s-“ Thorin began to protest, but Bilbo dipped the spoon into the cheesecake, popped the spoonful into his mouth, and leaned precariously over the countertop to kiss Thorin, the rich and creamy cheese and citrus taste rolled between their tongues, and Thorin’s moan instantly edged itself hungry and rough with lust.

This time they barely made it to the bedroom, shucking clothes everywhere; Bilbo laughing as Thorin sucked a reddened bruise onto Bilbo’s neck, Bilbo kicking off jeans, Thorin his trousers, the bottle of olive oil fumbled between them with the urgency of lust. Bilbo laughed again as Thorin spilled some of the oil on their skin, on the sheets, then groaned as Thorin lapped up the excess, swiping his tongue up over Bilbo’s trembling ribs to dusky nipples, sucking lightly until Bilbo arched against him and buried his clever fingers in Thorin’s hair. 

“You’re perfect,” Thorin breathed, as always, not prayer but a statement, and Bilbo rolled his eyes and curled his legs around Thorin’s hips and kicked at the small of his back, urging him on, demanding as ever.

Thorin would usually tease, try to draw it out, explore Bilbo’s gorgeous body, taste the sensitivity of his inner thighs and drink down his cock, take in the flesh until it bumped against the back of his throat; he loved to drag pleasure out of his lovers, make them whimper and writhe and scream. With Bilbo, he was more anxious, more conscious of obsession: with Bilbo his lust had long been swiftly tempered by an infatuation so absolute that it felt at times like madness. 

Today it made him impatient, made Thorin’s fingers shaky and almost nervous as he curled them between Bilbo’s thighs, made his breath uncurl in a strangled gasp when Bilbo smirked at him and leaned up to drawl, “I’m clean, Thorin, get on with it.” 

“Fuck,” Thorin hissed, as he pressed in his fingers, too hungry to be patient, but Bilbo squirmed down on two fingers with a low gasp, bracing his heels and his palms on the bed and screwing himself down, until Thorin’s fingers were buried to the knuckles and Bilbo was chuckling again, breathless and pitched high with pleasure and want. 

He chased it in Bilbo’s mouth in their next kiss, and then the next, in the fluttering pulse in Bilbo’s neck, in the hoarse gasp and the gorgeous rippling tension to Bilbo’s flesh as Thorin spread Bilbo with three fingers, breath huffing harshly against the shell of Bilbo’s ear. 

“I can take more,” Bilbo told him, breathlessly, the way he got whenever he knew he was about to be filled, “Ahh… oh Christ, that’s so good-“ 

Thorin pressed in, deeper and further until he was as far as he could go, until Bilbo had buried his face against Thorin’s neck, fingers curled on the sheets, legs wrapped tight around Thorin’s waist, and this time round, Thorin wasn’t the most impatient about it: it seemed like no time at all before Bilbo was using his leverage to rock himself against Thorin’s hips, chuckling roughly as Thorin choked out a groan.

He kept it slow, rolling his hips against Bilbo’s in shallow snaps, careful to find Bilbo’s pleasure first, his breaths scattered against Bilbo’s temple, Bilbo’s hot against his jaw, the fingers of Thorin’s left hand entwined with Bilbo’s right, his free hand holding his weight off Bilbo’s slighter frame. He loved being bigger than Bilbo, loved the cheeky grin Bilbo shot him even when pinned like this, loved the nip that Bilbo set in his skin, too high and close to his jaw for even a scarf to hide. Now Thorin drew it out, deep into the night and into the morning, until his rhythm was stuttered and Bilbo’s moans had cut into little, hoarse gasps, his cock fat and trapped leaking between them. 

Reaching between them, Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s cock, grinning at the whine that Bilbo made, hips lifting into Thorin’s fist as Thorin tugged up and stroked back down and up again. He tried to keep it slow, to tease, but at the first accidental touch of strength, Bilbo jerked and spilled into Thorin’s palm, messy and thick, open-mouthed, with Thorin’s name on his lips. God, Bilbo was so _good_ at making Thorin’s blood burn: the gritty pulse of lust that roared through his blood tugged free of Thorin’s self-control and he was coming, keening into the pillow beside Bilbo’s curls, grinding up as far as he could go. 

When Thorin caught his breath, he started to struggle up from the covers, and Bilbo rolled onto his back with a frown that was quite endearingly puzzled. “Thorin?”

“Cheesecake’s still on the countertop.”

Bilbo blinked, then he started to chuckle. “Christ, you’re obsessed.”

“It’s a waste-“ 

“You’re not going to gad about my kitchen stark bloody naked just after we had _sex_ ,” Bilbo prodded his hip. “It’s unhygienic.”

“This is _my_ apartment,” Thorin tried, but it was a weak argument now and Bilbo knew it, tugging Thorin back down towards him to take a kiss.

“It’ll keep. Besides, there’s more where that came from,” Bilbo added, with one of his gorgeously sly smiles, “Maybe something better in the morning, if the chef feels nicely appreciated for his efforts.” 

“I suppose,” Thorin breathed, as he settled back into bed, and slid a palm up the soft inner spread of Bilbo’s thighs, “That something could be arranged.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent
> 
> dessert from Saint Crispin Melbourne, menu from Sixpenny Sydney (both awesome)  
> EDIT: If you guys want to make That Cheesecake at home, here's part of the recipe: http://www.saintcrispin.com.au/uncategorized/cheesecake-recipe/ (I kinda remember it being more involved, with slices of mandarin orange and bits of mandarin jelly, but that's the base :) ) Best cheesecake ever.


End file.
